BlackLivesMatter
by fewcherwriter
Summary: In support of the #BlackLivesMatter movement. This isn't the exact story I'd like to write, but I can't help but think of the conflict protests would bring into Stef and Lena's relationship.


#BlackLivesMatter

Stef sat in the driveway. She'd just finished the fifth consecutive fifteen hour shift. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the window. The silence was welcome after hours of standing in front of protestors. Sighing, Stef went into the house.

"You're home," Jude beamed greeting his mom.

Doing her best to leave work at the door, Stef gave him a hug, "hey, bud." She watched the game Jude was playing for a few minutes, "how was school?" She asked.

Not taking his eyes from the game Jude shrugged, "good. I think Algebra is going to be kind of hard, but it's OK."

"Ah, I'm sure Mama or Marianna can help," she suggested. Taking the grunt as hint Jude was done talking, Stef smiled. "Twenty more minutes, then probably time to get ready for bed," she walked up the stairs.

Callie saw Stef coming toward the room and gave her a small wave, "hey."

Leaning on the doorframe, Stef returned the wave, "hey. Where's Marianna?"

"I don't know," Callie shrugged, "maybe the kitchen?" She was working on a journal response for English. It was the first assignment for the year. They'd read "Letters From Birmingham Jail" and Timothy wanted them to write a letter back to Dr. King. Callie didn't like abstract assignments so she'd been struggling all evening.

Stef nodded, she hadn't even looked in the kitchen. The only reason she hadn't fallen over was because the wall was holding her up. "Brandon in the shower?" She asked.

Callie nodded, "Lena is in your room. Jesus is in his room. I'm in my room, and I kind of need to finish this so," she trailed off. It was true, her homework needed to be done, but Stef looked exhausted. Callie didn't want her to feel obligated to make small talk.

"OK, OK," Stef turned, unbuckling her service belt as she walked into the bedroom. Lena was stretched out, working on her computer. With a loud groan, Stef fell on the bed.

Taking her glasses off, Lena leaned over to kiss her wife, "hey babe," she greeted her. Shutting the computer, Lena picked up Stef's belt and took it over to the closet. "Rough day?" She asked slipping beside Stef.

"Ugh," Stef answered. With her eyes closed she unpinned her hair, rubbing her sore scalp. Turning toward Lena, she offered a weary smile, "it's just a lot." She'd arrested at least five young girls today. "The things they yell. The chants are one thing, but the face to face screaming is a whole other level," Stef pressed the heel of her hand into her eye. "I mean what's their end game? Those of us standing opposite of them for days can do nothing. We're following orders from our bosses. Roberts was in charge for a few hours this evening, and I was literally scared for her life." Shaking her head, Stef shrugged, "they just hate us so incredibly deep."

Lena ran her hands through Stef's hair. It was stiff from sweat. There was a shift in her wife's attitude this evening. A sort of resignation had crept into her voice. Lena knew she was tired, physically and mentally. It wasn't pleasant to see Stef in this condition, but there was a lot of the protestor's message Lena agreed with. She'd been the twins age when Rodney King had been beaten. Her mother was finishing her PhD at UCLA, and the aftermath of the verdict had colored a lot of her early adulthood. "I hear ya, hon," Lena said softly.

"You hear me?" Stef propped herself up on an elbow giving Lena an incredulous look, "really, Lena? You hear me."

"Honey," Lena sighed sitting up, "why don't you get a shower, and I'll fix you some dinner."

Setting her jaw, Stef rolled her eyes, "I'm not hungry. Some of the spouses brought dinner into the headquarters."

Stef's implied message wasn't lost on Lena, "don't do this, Babe."

"What?" Stef bent down to untie her shoes, "I mean I stand in the August sun for twelve hours, wear forty pounds of riot gear. Get spit on, accused of being less than human, and there appears to be no end in sight." She set her boots at the foot of the bed, "for what? I didn't shoot Mike Brown. We aren't the enemy."

Before she could censor herself, Lena reacted, "you're not the victim, either, Stef." She regretted the statement as soon as it was out, "I'm sorry."

"Do you think this is an option, Lena? It's not like I have a choice-" Stef's voice rose.

"It is a choice. You have chosen to be a police officer. You're good at your job, and I am proud of you, but it is a choice," Lena countered. "You take the uniform off. The Black kids standing across from you don't have the luxury of changing their skin color. Regardless of how good of a cop you are, there is a bias toward young, Black men and women."

Stef shook her head, "this is my career. It's how we support this family. I can't exactly quit and start bussing tables." She stood up, stepping out of her pants, "I know there's a bias. It's reflective of the crime."

"So if you're stuck in your career," Lena air quoted much to Stef's ire, "then work on changing the bias."

Stef laughed bitterly, "it's that simple, huh, Lena. A large part of the problem is people like you, with all of this education making policy when they haven't stood on the front line. Sitting in air conditioned offices at City Hall or lecture halls at Stanford really qualifies a person to pass judgment on our experience."

Lena looked away. Stef's words hurt. "Please, go shower."

Pausing, Stef turned back to Lena, "look, I just feel so helpless. I like clear, quick solutions."

"I know," Lena allowed. "Unfortunately, that's not the reality. There's such deep rooted issues that will not be resolved in a few days. I just remember so many times walking back to our dorm or down the street police would stop us simply because we were a group of young, Black men and women. Have you ever been patted down?" Stef shook her head. "It's not pleasant or simple like it looks on TV. It's invasive and demeaning," Lena explained.

Stef sat back on the bed, taking Lena's hand, "these kids are just so angry."

"They're in pain, Stef. Their parents do the best they can, they go to schools that aren't serving them, taught by teachers that don't know them. See violence they can't understand. Then get caught up in a system designed to handicap them. Listen to what they are saying. Ignore how it's being said," Lena suggested. "Imagine having a neighborhood kid lying on the ground on our street for four and half hours," she shuddered. "No circumstance justifies that."

"Yeah," Stef agreed. She knew police practices were far from ideal. Being married to Lena gave Stef an opportunity to have a deeper perspective than many of her coworkers. It was just such a difficult position to be in. "I'm going to shower," she unbuttoned her shirt. "You may want to check on Jude. I told him to put the game away around now," Stef picked up her pants and shirt. "I love you, Lena," she cupped Lena's cheek and kissed the top of her head. "I am sorry you had to experience all of the profiling."

Lena leaned into Stef's hand. She knew Stef wasn't racist and she was a good cop. Still, not being racist wasn't enough. That was a conversation for a different time, though, "love you too."


End file.
